Truth or Dare
by Wisel
Summary: Emma's life turned into a game of truth or dare a long time ago.
1. Truth or Dare

"_Where are mommy and daddy?" Aunt Monica lifted med up and kissed the top of my head. "Aren't they coming back soon?" She sobbed, and I could see Uncle Chandler move closer in the corner of my eye. I played with a strand of my aunt's hair and tried to ignore her crying. Everybody was crying today – nobody would tell me why. "I want to go play."_

"_Okay, sweetie," Monica said and put me down. She darted across the room to get a tissue, and Aunt Phoebe was quick to follow. "I can't believe they're gone!" Monica sobbed. Aunt Phoebe put her arms around her. My usually so strong aunt wept like a child. Uncle Chandler put a hand on my shoulder and led me out of the room. I looked back and saw Uncle Joey take some of Monica's weight of Phoebe; Monica's reaction was near to none. She looked like a life-less doll. _

"_We should put her on the couch," Phoebe mumbled. Uncle Chandler closed the door in front of my eyes._

"_What would you like to play?" he asked me in a cheerful voice and sat down on the bed of his and Monica's guestroom._

_  
"Truth or dare," I answered him. His expression looked slightly bewildered, but he nodded in agreement._

"_Truth or dare it is," he said and smiled at me. "Do you want to start?"_

"_Yes. Truth or dare, Uncle Chandler?"_

"_Dare."_

"_Pick truth."_

"_Truth." I realized then I had the ability to make people around me do what I wanted them to. In my head I wondered if it had anything to do with mommy and daddy, if it would last forever or only until they got back._

"_Where are mommy and daddy?" Uncle Chandler looked almost sick with pain. I tried to see where he was hurt, but I couldn't find any cuts or bruises. "Did you hurt yourself, Uncle Chandler? You look like you hurt yourself."_

"_Yes," Chandler said with a great sadness in his eyes. "I am hurt."_

"_Where? Is it a big bruise?"_

"_It's the biggest bruise ever, but you can't see it. It's on the inside." _


	2. Anniversary

**Emma**

_Dear diary,_

_My aunt Monica thinks that I don't trust her enough to talk about my parents with her. So I promised her I'd write in this journal if I couldn't talk to her about it. It just reeks of The Princess Diaries, but what am I supposed to do? Monica and Chandler have taken good care of me, even though they had two five-year-olds on their hands when I came along. This whole "I don't trust Monica" business is just absurd, she's the closest thing to a mother I've got. It's not her fault my biological mother is dead._

_A lot of people ask me what memories I have of my parents. It's only fair to tell them I don't have too many; I was only seven when they died, and I can barely remember what I did this morning. The few memories I have are foggy and precious, and easily destroyed. That's why I hate talking about my parents; other people tend to make my memories fade away and become something else when they tell their anecdotes and funny stories. Monica and Chandler, as well as aunt Phoebe and uncle Joey, don't fit in that category, but it's become natural to answer, "I don't like to talk about my parents," when anybody asks. Including the above mentioned._

_So the problem isn't that I don't trust Monica. The problem is I don't trust my own mind, my own recollection. Then there's the fact that I am, and always have been, paranoid about tomorrow. Not tomorrows date exactly, but the future in general. I will never know if today is my last day alive. I will never know if I'm going to wake up and not remember anything in the morning. I'd rather lose my own memories than somebody else's; do you know what I mean? Probably not… a lot of people don't understand what I'm talking about half the time._

_Tomorrow is the tenth anniversary of their death. Monica and Chandler are pacing around the house, anxiously awaiting the dreaded day. Or so they say, whenever I ask them why they're so restless. What they're really waiting for is my reaction, of course. Will I cry? Will I mope around the house just as restlessly as they are now? Will I go into a very deep, long depression? Or will I, god forbid, try to commit suicide?_

_I don't know what I'll do. Maybe I'll go insane._

The book closed with a soft thud and I slid it between two books in my shelf. I swivelled the chair around and closed my eyes. Monica and Chandler's guestroom had changed a good bit in ten years. First off, it wasn't a guestroom anymore; it was my bedroom. It had a sign on the door with my name on it that I had painted when I was ten and not taken down yet. The walls were covered with posters of all my favourite bands. Clothes lay strewn across the floor (Monica's eyes almost popped out of her head every time she saw it) and the bed was unmade. My desk stood pushed up against the wall next to my bookshelf, which was so overfilled it threatened to snap in two any moment.

The doorbell rang, but whoever rang it didn't wait for anyone to open. I concluded that it was Joey or Phoebe. Monica called something from the kitchen, and Joey answered cheerfully. Without really making the decision to leave my room, my feet walked towards the hall. A visit from Joey was always something good. He was almost always happy and talkative, a quality that made me really love him. Then again, all the friends were happy and talkative. I smiled; I really did love them all.

"Uncle Joey!" I said, walking towards him with a huge smile on my face. "Don't forget me." Joey smiled, but the smile didn't completely reach his eyes. He was probably thinking about the next day, and taking my statement more seriously than I intended it.

"Hey, is that what you think of me?" he said and held out his arms. I almost jumped into his warm arms and let them hug me longer than usual. "I would never forget my favourite niece."

"What about me?" Erica said, coming out of nowhere.

"Fine," Joey said and rolled his eyes; "my second favourite niece." He winked at me and put an arm around my shoulder. "So, what's cooking? It smells like lasagne."

"Mom made it especially for you," Erica said. "And she made an extra one for you to put in your freezer."

"She thinks of everything," Joey said. "Where's Chandler?"

"He went to get some soda," Monica stuck her head out from the kitchen. "Hey, Joe."

I went to sit in the couch and watch some TV while Joey and Monica talked about everything and nothing. My fingers automatically flicked between all the channels, but my mind didn't take anything in. it was busy thinking about other things. The telephone rang, and Monica went to answer it. Joey joined me on the couch and pulled the remote out of my hand.

"Hey!" I said, even though I couldn't be bothered. Joey shrugged.

"Pure habit," he said and smiled. I sensed there was something he wanted to talk to me about, but he was never any good at talking about serious stuff. I wasn't curious enough to ask him what was up. Instead, I leaned my head against his shoulder. Sometimes the thought crossed my mind that Joey and I had a relationship that went deeper than just friends' daughter and parents' friend. I'd once tried to lead the conversation that way, but my perseverance failed me and we ended up talking about food. Talking about food was how it usually ended with Joey.

Chandler came into the house, bringing the fresh, crisp air with him. He waved to me and Joey, and we followed him into the kitchen. He gave Monica a quick kiss and put the soda and beers he'd bought in the fridge; he held out a bottle to Joey who took it and nodded towards Chandler.

"Table's set, dinner cooked, Phoebe missing," Monica said. "Mike has really got to get over the honeymoon phase of their marriage."

"Mike?" Chandler said. "You know what Phoebe's like." The door opened and closed, and Phoebe called a 'sorry I'm late'.

"So we're all here," Monica said and checked of a list in her head. "Good. Let's eat."

"Where are the twins?" Chandler asked.

"They're up in their rooms," Monica sighed and rolled her eyes. "They had their dinner earlier because sitting with the grown-ups isn't cool enough, or something."

"Yes, that's how a fifteen-year-old mind works," I said and rolled my eyes back at her.

"Watch it!" she joked. "I know a room that needs a good cleaning. If you don't behave, I might sacrifice the joy of cleaning it myself and let you do it." I stuck my tongue out at her. Phoebe came into the kitchen.

"Sorry I'm late," she started, but Chandler interrupted her.

"That's already too much information," he said and hugged her. Everybody hugged everybody, and we sat down to dinner. I didn't say much, I mostly listened. That's how it always was when the friends were gathered. They did all the talking. I barely even answered questions.

Monica's lasagne, the warmth from the candle placed in front of me and the quiet voices telling stories started to make me drowsy. The sun had set hours ago, and the scenery outside the window was drenched in the pitch-black darkness. It was getting late, but I wasn't ready to go to bed yet. I didn't want to face tomorrow. _At least it's Sunday, _I thought to myself. _At least I don't have to go to school, should I have a breakdown. _

The friends admitted that it was getting late just before midnight, and then sighed and wondered when they had gotten so old as to think midnight was late. They talked about how they would sit up talking for hours past midnight once upon a time, pondered the fact that they'd spent most of their waking time at Central Perk. "How is that even possible?" Chandler asked no one in particular.

It was still ten minutes until midnight when we said our goodbyes and Phoebe and Joey left. They promised to come back tomorrow, so we could 'go out' together. So we could take Monica and Chandler's car down to the cemetery.

I always hated going to the cemetery. It gave me nightmares and horrible images of my parents' faces slowly disappearing in horrid ways. I hated thinking about going there, I hated going there, and I hated coming back from there. I hated that I couldn't say no, because Monica and Chandler wanted me to put flowers on my parents' grave, or maybe even light a candle. I didn't want to seem ungrateful and go against them on that particular matter. Monica put her hand on my shoulder and brought me back to their house in the peaceful suburb.

"Are you going to be alright tonight, honey?" she asked softly. Chandler stood next to her with an arm around her waist.

"Yes," I said hesitantly. "Why are you asking?"

"Tomorrow is a big day, that's all," she said. "I don't want you to think that you have to spend the night alone."

"I'll be fine," I said, but quickly added, "but thanks for thinking of me."

"Emma," Monica said and cupped my chin in her hand. "I always think of you." I smiled, uncertain what I should answer.

"Good night," I said and hurried to my room.

"Good night, Emma," Monica and Chandler called after me.

My bed looked warm and welcoming (Monica had during the night managed to slip away and clean up my room a bit), but I didn't want to go to sleep. I avoided lying down; afraid of what the night would bring me. I'd been having dreams about mom and dad's death, lately, and I didn't like them. They weren't nightmares, but they stirred something up inside me and left me waking up exhausted. I'd even started crying while I was sleeping.

My eyelids were growing heavier by the minute. I glared at my alarm clock. 11:59. I tried to make time freeze, but it didn't, and the clock changed to 12:00. It was officially ten years since the death of my parents.


	3. Genetics

**Chandler**

The plastic wrap on the bouquet crinkled when my hand squeezed around the stems of the flowers. We were all sitting jammed into our pretty big Volvo. Emma had called shotgun and was sitting next to Monica, whose hands were gripping the steering wheel a bit too firmly. Erica and Jack had jumped into the trunk of the car and were constantly ducking so no one would see them. I was sitting in between Phoebe and Joey in the backseat, squeezing flower stems wrapped in cellophane and sweating in my coat.

"Dude," Joey said. "You're looking kind of hot."

"Gee, I wonder why," I said and got a warning glance from Monica. _Crack a joke and we'll be visiting your grave next year. _We were getting closer to the cemetery, so close we could see the vast amount of headstones lining up towards the horizon. Last time I was there I would have thought it impossible, but it looked even more grisly than usual. Emma sighed and started folding her hands nervously. Monica put a soothing hand on her shoulder.

"You'll be fine," she said, but sounded a bit choked up herself.

The car doors echoed across Our Lady of Perpetual Hope Cemetery. I put my arm around Monica's shoulders and gave her a peck on the top of her head. She snuffled quietly and took a tissue out of her pocket. Erica and Jack walked behind the rest of us, pushing each other playfully and throwing teasing comments at one another. Monica snapped at them. _Keep messing around and we'll have two extra graves to visit next year. _

Emma was walking quietly next to Joey, holding his hand. There was a tension in the air that wasn't normally there when we went on our annual visit to Ross and Rachel's graves. Usually we would huddle up and whisper our memories of the two. _Remember how Ross would always… And how Rachel went crazy when… _Today was different. The only whisper that was heard was the faint rustle of the paper bag Phoebe was carrying. 10 years can do that – it can change anything; it will change everything.

It was a gray day outside, and the raindrops threatened to fall at any moment. We stopped at the two headstones that we all knew by heart; every bump, every curve, every nook and cranny. Ross and Rachel's name carved in stone, their birth dates and the day of the accident. The day they died. Under their names stood the usual "Rest in Peace" and the words hit me as hard every time. Every year I had the same surreal feeling. There was a time in my life when we all seemed immortal to me – surely we would never die. And then two of us were gone, just like that.

"Let's light the candles," Phoebe said and wiped a tear off her cheek. She took the two candles out of the paper bag. "Shoot, I forgot to bring matches," she mumbled and rummaged through her pockets.

"Here, use this," I said and handed her a lighter. Monica looked at me. "Do you really want to do this now?" She shrugged, and I knew I'd bought myself a few hours. Anniversary of brother's death or not, I always got a good scolding if she suspected I'd been smoking.

We stood lined up in front of their headstones; Phoebe, Joey, Emma, Monica, myself. Erica and Jack were only five when it happened, and they mainly came along because Monica and I told them to. They didn't much like huddling up with us when we talked about days gone by, and would only stay for the lighting of the candle. They had long since hurried back to the car.

The five of us must have looked like statues were we stood. Nobody knew what to do next. We were all waiting for Emma's reaction. Finally, Phoebe broke the silence.

"Huddle?" she said. We all looked at Emma, who was staring blankly at the graves. Her face was unreadable.

"Emma?" Joey said and squeezed her shoulder. Emma bit her lower lip.

"Maybe we should go home," Monica suggested, but Emma protested.

"The huddle is the one good thing about this day," she said. "So let's huddle."

We all moved together and stood in a circle, arms over each other's shoulders, our breaths like white smoke. One by one we went round, remembering what had once been. Emma only listened. She didn't like talking about her memories of Ross and Rachel, so we didn't make her.

"They weren't really on a break though," Monica whispered and smiled carefully, watching to see our reactions. We were all watching Emma. Emma smiled.

"Come on, Mon," Joey said. "Rachel even said it."

"Of course you would take the man's side," Phoebe said.

"Who goes out and finds a one night stand only a few hours after your girlfriend told you she wanted to take a break? How is that going to help him win her back?"

"Suppose you're right…" Joey murmured.

"Do you think they would have stayed together if he hadn't…?" Phoebe whispered.

"Maybe, maybe not. They were unpredictable, the two of them." Monica sighed.

"Unpredictable," I repeated. "Unpredictable is probably an understatement. Remember the leather pants? And the excessively bleached teeth? Or the overdone spray-on tan that was only on one side?"

"Spray-on tan… Pfft," Joey said.

"You're one to talk," I said. "Remember the eyebrows? You couldn't even stand the 'pain'."

"Don't make me remind you who plucked them," Joey warned. Emma laughed. An old couple a close to us stared at us disapprovingly. _How dare they laugh when they're at a cemetery?_

"We should probably leave," I said and added, loud enough for the elderly couple to hear, "I hear cemeteries aren't the place for remembering people you love and miss."

Emma giggled and we all straightened our backs to leave. Joey instinctively grabbed Emma's hand and kissed her on the top of her head, I leaned the flowers against the headstones and we all murmured a silent goodbye. Then we walked side by side, arm in arm, back to our Volvo. As soon as the doors were closed, we all breathed a sigh of relief. The worst part of the day was over. At least, that's what we thought.

"I have to leave, I promised Mike I would be home an hour ago," Phoebe said and stood up. We were all sitting at Central Perk, this also a yearly ritual. Now that everyone except Joey, who lived in the same apartment he had once shared with me, lived in the world of suburbia, we rarely met up for coffee and muffins at our favorite café.

"Do you have to go, Aunt Phoebe?" Emma said. "I'm sure Uncle Mike won't mind if you stay a little while longer."

"Oh, I think he will mind," Phoebe said. "I'm sorry, Emma, but I have to go. Mike has had the kids alone all day. They must be driving him mad." She smiled apologetically.

"Fine," Emma pouted. "Tell Uncle Mike I missed him today."

"You know he wanted to be here," Phoebe said and kissed Emma on her cheek. "See you guys later."

"Bye, Phoebs," we called out in unison as Phoebe walked the few steps to the door and waved to us.

"I suppose we should get going to," Monica sighed. "I really do miss this place, though," she said.

"I think we all do," I said.

"I don't want to leave," Emma said and pouted some more.

"I don't want you guys to leave," Joey said and pouted with Emma.

"Can I stay at Uncle Joey's tonight?" Emma asked.

"You have school tomorrow, Emma," Monica said. I nodded in agreement.

"So? I'll get up early and take the subway or something," Emma pleaded.

"Not negotiable, Emma," Monica said. "No sleepovers on school nights, even if it is only at Joey's place."

"Listen to your aunt," I said and scored some points. Maybe I wouldn't have such a hard time explaining the lighter in my jacket pocket later on tonight.

"Please, Monica," Emma said. "I promise I'll… I'll do the dishes every night for the rest of the month!"

"You obviously don't know Monica," Joey murmured.

"I'm sure you can stay over during the weekend," Monica said.

"Monica, it's not a problem for me, I can bring her to school in the morning," Joey said.

"Please, Monica," Emma pleaded again. "Pretty please with sugar on top?"

"Fine," Monica said with faux-exasperation and smiled. "But only for tonight. But you have to let me clean your room."

"Hey, nobody's stopping you," Emma said and smiled. "Thanks, Monica, you're the best."

"Oh, you," Monica grinned. "I am the best, aren't I?"

"We should go home to the twins," I said. "They've had too much freedom today."

"I'll just go to the bathroom," Monica said. "See you tomorrow, sweetie." She kissed Emma goodnight and headed for the bathroom.

"I'm going to go upstairs, so," Emma said and stood up. "Are you coming, Joey?"

"I just want to talk to Chandler, I'll be up in a second," Joey said.

"What's up, Joe?" I said when Emma had left.

"I'm going to tell her tonight," he said.

"Are you crazy? You can't tell her! Not now!" I said in a high pitched voice.

"She has a right to know."

"Of course she does, and she will know, when the time comes," I said.

"Now is as good a time as any," Joey argued.

"I don't really think the tenth anniversary of Ross and Rachel's death is the best time to tell her."

"I guess you're right. But," he said, "I think she kind of senses it, you know? She's a smart kid."

"Yes, something that definitely argues against her having any of your genes in her." I rolled my eyes. "Look, I think you should wait. At least until we've talked some more."

"What's there to talk about? If there's a chance that she's my daughter…"

"What about Monica and me?" I said. "We've taken care of her all these years, and don't get me wrong, I love her, but she's like a daughter to us, too. She means so much to Monica. It wouldn't be fair to tell her anything if Monica isn't going to be there with her."

"I guess you're right," Joey said again.

"It's not like we know for sure that she's yours," I continued. "Even though she looks more like Rachel, I still see Ross in her. I think there's a reason why Rachel chose to tell the world Ross was the father. I think Rachel kind of sensed that that's how it was."

"I suppose so," Joey said. "But there's just this connection between us, you know?"

"I know, everyone sees it, Joe," I tried to smile. "But that doesn't necessarily mean you're her father."

"I don't know, man," Joey said with a thoughtful face. "I have a hunch that she's mine. She's my daughter, alright."


End file.
